Quiet Voices
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Agents rely on each other in the field (in two chapters)
1. Chapter 1

It had not gone well. True, CI5 had got the better of them, but there were casualties on both sides. Trevis, a new agent, was dead and another dying of wounds. The opposition dead or on the run.

Out of the corner of his eye Doyle saw a man have a go at Bodie with a meat cleaver. God knows where he'd got that from but he certainly knew how to use it to good effect. Trevis had already gone down, and he didn't look as though he was going to get up any time soon. Bodie was engaged at the time with one of the opposition's colleagues. He tried unsuccessfully to push the man in front of the cleaver to shield himself, but both he and his opponent got hit with it. Doyle was too busy with his own oppo to understand fully what was going on, but got the impression from the yelling and swearing that Bodie was losing his particular battle. Doyle laid into his man with renewed energy, not caring about Queen's rules. He'd fight as dirty as he needed to. He laid his man out with a handy brick and turned into the path of the cleaver man. Blood had already stained the blade as Bodie lay at his feet. Doyle was furious. Rage overtook the fear the man had been expecting, and Doyle lay in with all he had. The battle didn't take long and Doyle made sure – absolutely sure – that the man wouldn't be getting up again. He rushed over to his partner who was still lying flat on his back, barely conscious. Blood was pumping from his side and he was panting hard. Bodie couldn't keep the panic from his eyes. He knew how badly he'd been hurt. Doyle tore at Bodie's shirt and assessed quickly as Bodie watched him. Doyle's choice was clear. Either he could risk Bodie bleeding to death as he dashed to the car and phoned for an ambulance, or he could stay with his friend, apply pressure to the wound, hope that somehow or another an ambulance would miraculously turn up, but still risk Bodie bleeding to death in the meanwhile. It seemed that the outcome was going to be the same; fatally the same.

"Sorry," Doyle murmured as he undid Bodie's bloody trousers and pushed his fingers hard into the pressure point at the groin. Bodie jack-knifed and gasped in pain. The pumping blood almost immediately reduced to a steady trickle. Doyle persuaded his friend to lie back down and keep as still as he could while he kept up the pressure. He then ran out of any further ideas.

After a few minutes Bodie, still gasping, gained enough of his vocal chords to keep Doyle company. "You know, I thought that if I bought it, it'd be so quick I wouldn't know about it."

"Bodie, save it for your memoirs."

"But if it had to be dragged out like this," Bodie continued, ignoring him, "I'd want you to be there with me."

"You're going nowhere, so shut up and save your strength."

Bodie heard the panic in Doyle's voice; try as he might to make it sound like anger rather than fear.

Bodie again ignored him. "The fact that I'd go with you having your hands down my trousers is, I must say, not something I'd considered!"

Doyle had to smile at that one. "Look, just keep breathing in and out. You've done it before."

It seemed to Bodie that Doyle was having a bit of difficulty himself on that front. He'd felt the pressure on his groin easing though Doyle was putting his whole weight on the area. He was definitely losing strength.

"You all right, Ray?" Bodie panted anxiously. His voice was barely above a whisper now.

Doyle tried to respond but was so weak that Bodie couldn't hear him. He was fading out himself. Bodie wasn't sure he'd heard a siren and even less sure that it may be heading their way. He must have drifted off briefly. The next thing he was aware of was a stronger male voice. He opened his eyes and saw a man in uniform crouched next to Doyle, who was still at his post, still pressing down on the pressure point. He and Doyle exchanged medical news, lost on Bodie. The man, a medic, said something to Bodie but he seemed unable to process the words. Then something odd happened. Doyle very slowly and, it seemed at the time, carefully, keeled over onto his side next to his friend. Bodie had difficulty processing that, too. He reached out automatically and stroked the top of Doyle's head for reassurance. The soft, curly hair tickling his fingers was the last thing he remembered.


	2. Chapter 2

Cowley didn't have favourites. He treated his agents with the same respect whether they were cadets or veterans. Vigil kept by the hospital bedside was standard procedure. The casualty may come round and say something relevant. It was over two days however before either agent did. As Cowley was putting his coat on after another hectic day (it kept his mind distracted) the phone went. His job demanded that he never left a phone to ring. He answered it conscientiously. It was Dolenz at the other end with news that Bodie had regained consciousness. Dolenz couldn't keep the relief from his voice. He didn't know Bodie well, but any dangerously sick colleague was a cause for concern. There but for the grace of God and all that. Cowley, in the privacy of his office, closed his eyes and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving. To Dolenz he said briskly on the phone that he was on his way to the hospital in any case and he'd see him there in half an hour. When any agents were hospitalised Cowley made a point, no matter how late or how tired he was, of seeing them before going home. That too was standard procedure in Cowley's book.

Dolenz made a discreet exit when his boss arrived. His relief, Malik, waited outside as Dolenz passed on the good news. Bodie took a while to focus on the man at his bedside. It certainly wasn't Doyle. Cowley looked anxiously down at his fevered agent. Bodie asked weakly after his friend.

"Trevis didn't make it, Bodie. I'm sorry."

Bodie knew that he should feel something for the man, even though he didn't know him very well, but his thoughts were with Doyle, as surely Cowley must have realised - unless he was going to add him to the casualty list?

"Doyle's a few doors down," he added, reading Bodie's thoughts.

This didn't tell him a great deal, only that Ray was still alive. He kept relief at bay until he'd heard all of it.

Cowley saw the wariness in his agent's drugged eyes. "He's in intensive care, as you are, Bodie. He has an injury to his arm. He was bleeding as he tended to you. It's fortunate that you both have the same blood group. I think you have more of Doyle's blood in you that he has himself!"

Cowley was trying to keep the conversation light, but he saw the fear and tension in his agent. There was little he could say to alleviate Bodie's anxiety. He wouldn't feed him false promises. However, he would keep certain information to himself until he felt Bodie was strong enough to hear it, such as the fact that the doctors were fighting as much to save Doyle's arm, as they were to save his life. The cleaver had gone right down to the bone and he was lucky that it hadn't been severed there and then. Bodie was struggling to keep awake and Cowley was meting out the information as slowly as possible so Bodie would go back to sleep. When he next woke they should have some more information for him – one way or the other.

The conversation had exhausted Bodie, as Cowley had hoped it would, and it was another 24 hours before he prised his eyes open again and was able to take in what had been said and to ask more questions. The fact that Doyle was still deciding whether to walk with the living or lay with the dead was kept again from Bodie. The watchers had been removed now from his bedside. Cowley would break any news that needed to be broken. Vigil was still being maintained down the corridor however. Doyle's consultant had suggested to Cowley that a close friend or relative tend the bedside. A familiar voice would be of greater benefit than the patient's colleagues reading the sports pages to him. Cowley, with surprising modesty, didn't include himself in the category of 'close friend or relative' despite naming himself as next of kin on the medical forms. That was practicality not sentiment. Bodie was too ill to tend the bedside, so that left a girlfriend. But discreet enquiry (or as discreet as Cowley was able) left Cowley with the impression that Debbie wouldn't be the helpmeet the consultant was hoping for. When Betty had broken the news to her and offered to take her to the hospital, Debbie had broken down and declared that she couldn't take the strain any more of having a boyfriend on active service. Betty formed the impression that she liked the attention and sympathy her friendship attracted but not the reality of it. No help there then. Betty however did consider Mohamed and his mountain. Cowley asked her to expand.

"Well, the doctors feel that Ray would appreciate a familiar voice. We're both thinking of Bodie and we both know he's not strong enough at the moment – despite what he says. So why don't we record a message from Bodie and play it to him?"

Betty was rewarded with the first smile she'd seen from her boss for nearly a week. She was relieved of duty and rushed round with a tape recorder. Bodie wasn't as enthusiastic as Betty had hoped and, with a microphone shoved under his nose, said that he couldn't think of anything to say. He felt stupid. He did try to wheedle further news from Betty about his partner's condition though and said that if he heard the phrase "no change" once more, he threatened to scream. Unknown to Bodie the consultants were still battling to save his friend's arm. If they amputated – an option they were increasingly leaning towards – it would relieve his system of chronic infection. But conversely he could well die of shock in his frail condition if they tried it. The consultant looked to Cowley, as listed next of kin, for advice. He told them to keep up the fight and, importantly, to keep the battle from Bodie or any of his colleagues.

But Cowley had overlooked a weakness in his defences – Bodie's charm offensive with the nurses. It was from one of them that he inveigled the news that Doyle was still fighting a rearguard action. The recorded messages over the past few days didn't seem to be having the effect they had all hoped. By now Bodie was sat up, taking notice, and having meals pushed in front of him, though he had little appetite. Further wheedling got him a wheelchair and a porter. (The nurse in question didn't want to be caught red-handed with her confederate.) The consultant was changing his patient's dressings when Bodie was wheeled in. Doyle's watcher and the porter beat a hasty retreat.

"You're Mr Bodie I take it?" asked the doctor, continuing his gory work.

"How bad is he? I keep getting fobbed off and I can't stand it any more. I'm not a child." Bodie was trying very hard to keep his temper, magnified as it was by the fear of the sight in front of him. As a soldier, he recognised gangrene when he saw it.

"Mr Doyle is very ill, Mr Bodie. We're trying to keep his infection levels down. It may not seem like it at the moment – and you haven't seen him before now – but I am more optimistic than I was this morning. His vital levels are at last starting to look encouraging, and his temperature is levelling off. I'm not giving you empty promises, Mr Bodie," the doctor continued, having seen the anger and mistrust on Bodie's face. "As you rightly say, you're not a child, and this could still go either way. But I see, too, that you're now well enough to visit Mr Doyle and this can only add to his improvement."

Bodie couldn't help but be caught up in the consultant's cautious optimism. "I'd like to sit with him," he requested, though it sounded like an order.

"Of course, Mr Bodie, but don't tire yourself out. You need to pace yourself if you're to continue to be of use here."

That got to Bodie as little else could and he didn't resist when a porter came to collect him an hour later.

It was another two days before Doyle decided that he and his arm were going to remain on the side of the living. Bodie took shifts with his colleagues at Doyle's bedside and it was he who was rewarded with Ray opening his eyes for the first time in nearly a week.

"You made it then," was Doyle's first coherent remark. Bodie wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. It didn't matter a damn.

"Yeah. I've a deep bruise in a bloody funny place but, thanks to you, Ray, I'm still here!" Bodie beamed happily.

His friend smiled faintly. "I need my beauty sleep, Bodie. Keep a State Registered Nurse warm for me till I wake up." Doyle's eyes closed slowly, a lazy smile still on his lips.

Bodie was more than happy to do just that.


End file.
